White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

  Jessie and Coralie joined them, their arms full with not only their own soiled clothing but also that of their brothers. Coralie had also volunteered to do Rook’s wash in return for cooking lessons. The women grimaced at one another as they plunged their hands into the ice-cold water. Word spread that the women were doing laundry, and before long the single men in their party had shown up with bundles of dirty clothes. The men, abhorring the idea of doing woman’s work, offered good pay to Eirica and Anne to do theirs.

  As the day wore on, Jessie found herself watching her sister-in-law. She couldn’t believe the overnight change. This morning Coralie had returned to camp wearing a pretty calico dress of cream and blue, the same style worn by the other two women, and on her feet, she wore brand-new boots. Jessie hid her grin. Never had she thought to see the day when Miss Priss dressed in plain, everyday garb.

  Beside her, Coralie stood and shook out her skirts. “Look how wet and muddy my skirt is,” she wailed.

  Jessie and Anne rolled their eyes at each other and watched Coralie move to a less muddy spot before plunging her hands back into the water to scrub one of Jordan’s shirts. “Well, some things haven’t changed,” Jessie murmured with a soft chuckle.

  Eirica bit her lip to keep from laughing. She called out to Coralie, “Don’t worry, Coralie. That dress’ll wash and be as good as new.”

  That brought on another groan. “I never want to see another dirty piece of clothing again. How can there be so much? Look at my hands. They’ll never be the same again,” she finished sadly, staring at her hands.

  “Welcome to the real world, Corie,” Jessie said, wiping a stray curl off her forehead. She stared at her own hands. Between the harsh soap and the cold water, they all suffered with red and raw hands. Silence fell. Jessie hid her grin, knowing it would be only a matter of time before the complaints started up again, but for all her griping, Coralie did her fair share. Not once had she tried to weasel out of it, and that alone amazed Jessie. She sneaked another glance at her sister-in-law, noting her flushed cheeks and her eyes sparkling with a hint of some inner knowledge.

  Jessie sat back on her heels when the last of the clothing had been rinsed. This time it was she who groaned as she stretched the kinks from her aching back. Together she and Coralie carried the wet clothes to a group of trees, where Jordan and Elliot had strung lines of rope. When they were through hanging the clothes to dry, Jessie moved to help Eirica and Anne finish theirs. Her jaw dropped when Coralie silently joined her. She’d assumed that once she was finished, Coralie would hightail it back to her tent. But without complaint, she began the process all over again, assisting Anne, which left Jessie to help Eirica with the children’s clothing.

  Much later, the last load was hung out to dry. Eirica rubbed her lower back. “Thank the good Lord that’s done,” she said with a moan.

  The others echoed her sentiment. Jessie was just going to suggest putting on some water for coffee or tea, but Jordan came up behind Coralie.

  “If you ladies don’t mind, I’d like to take my wife for a walk before dinner.” Coralie blushed and smiled shyly at her husband. Hand in hand, the couple left.

  Jessie and Eirica looked at each other and grinned. Jessie shook her head, confused. “I can’t believe the change in her. What did Jordan say to her last night? She’s even wearing the clothes he bought for her.”

  Anne laughed. “Oh, Jessie, it’s not what he said; it’s what he did.”

  This time it was Jessie who turned pink from the neck up. Raised in a household of men, she wasn’t totally innocent of what went on between a male and female, married or not. “But Anne, they’ve been married over a week. Are you saying they’ve not, uh, you know…”

  The older woman grew solemn, her blue eyes serious. “I think your sister-in-law feared the marriage bed, but seeing her today, I think it’s safe to say that your brother convinced her that there’s nothing to fear.”

  Eirica broke in, her tone wistful. “She’s lucky, so very, very lucky to have a kind and gentle husband. Not to mention being surrounded by her family,” she finished, her voice dropping to a mere whisper.

  Jessie bit her lip and lowered her gaze to Eirica’s hand, which rested on the gentle swell of her abdomen. “Oh, Eirica, I wish there were something I could do,” she dared to say aloud. She wanted to put her arms around Eirica’s shoulders, but she didn’t dare in view of the others.

  Eirica straightened and shook her head. “It’s not your problem, Jessie. You’ve helped a great deal just by listening and being my friend. Back home, Birk never allowed me have friends of my own, but here, on the trail, he can’t do much to prevent it.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ll treasure each day and pray that when we get to Oregon, we can find some way to remain friends.”

  A lump formed in Jessie’s throat, and she reached out to squeeze the other woman’s hand. “Don’t worry; we’ll always be friends,” she whispered, averting her gaze from the fading bruise on Eirica’s cheek. She wished there were a way to get back at Birk for some of the pain he’d inflicted on his wife.

  Jessie realized her wish several days later when she was out walking along the river to get away from Wolf’s bothersome presence. Heading upstream, away from the long line of wagons camped along its banks, she followed the beckoning cool, blue river. Though she was tempted to stop and bathe, she didn’t dare. She’d have to wait until dark, and even that was becoming risky, as she’d discovered last night.

  Luckily, she’d already dried and dressed when Wolf had come strolling out of the darkness. That close call had sent her heart into a panic, and as she’d fled back to her wagon, she could have sworn she’d heard him laughing. There was something else that disturbed her: his smile and easy banter.

  Rounding the bend, she stopped when she noticed a lone man bathing in the river. She turned away to give him his privacy, but stopped when she recognized the angry, muttering voice. Dropping down to her hands and knees, she crept forward. Yep, it was Birk, and he was drinking. She watched him toss his flask to the bank and stifled a groan, knowing he’d likely return to his family drunk.

  Staring at his clothes, she plotted. Perhaps she could take his clothes and delay his return—but then she discarded the idea. It’d just put him in an even nastier mood. She glanced at the sun’s position to gauge how long she’d been gone. That was when she spotted it—a hornet’s nest—high up in one of the cottonwood trees at the water’s edge. Her gaze shifted from the hornets back to Birk, and she bit her lip to still the gurgle of laughter that threatened to spill forth. Even as she wondered if she dared, she was pulling a slingshot from her back pocket.

  Her eyes narrowed when she remembered Eirica’s bruised cheek and the finger-sized bruises she’d seen on four-year-old Alison’s arm that morning. Yes, she dared. Searching the ground for several small stones, she kept an eye on Birk, waiting until he ducked his head beneath the water. Taking careful aim, she fired three rocks in rapid succession. She heard his cries of pain echo past her as she fled.

  On day sixteen, the emigrants arrived at Alcove Springs. Jessie stood below the rocky ledge of the falls. Above her, clear springwater spilled over the brink, falling ten feet to splash into a large pool at her feet. Behind the waterfall, she spotted a dark alcove carved into the rocks. Reaching down, she dipped her fingers into the pool and shivered. It was icy cold. She quickly abandoned the idea of trying to get behind the falls to explore, and instead opted to soak up the beauty surrounding her.

  The spring was heavily timbered with oak, cedar, ash and a few other trees green with the delicate color of spring. Around the rocky pool, lush grass mingled with a provision of wildflowers. Color bloomed everywhere, lending a romantic aura to the setting that her fingers itched to commit to paper. Bending down, she picked a small yellow flower. Twirling the thin stem gently between thumb and forefinger, she inhaled the sweet scent while staring into the pool at a large rock with a name and date etched into its surface.

  Despite
the warmth of the day, she shivered. Like most emigrants, she’d heard the horrible story of the Donner party. At least James Frazier Reed’s mother-in-law, Sarah Keyes, had been spared the horrific winter her party suffered when they became stranded in the Sierras. At the age of seventy, she’d died here of consumption. Traveling with them, Edwin Bryant had given the springs its present name, while another member of that ill-fated Donner party, George McKinstry, had carved the name above the brink of the fall.

  Jessie forced thoughts of the Donner party from her mind, grateful that Wolf, for all his hateful ways, was an experienced guide who tolerated no lolling about. He set a hard pace, and she, for one, could fully appreciate it after this reminder. Her gaze swept the area, absorbing the historical surroundings. After climbing the small hillside, she stood over the ledge, watching the water spill downward. The sun warmed her as she lowered herself to the ground and sat, half-hidden by the branches of an ash tree growing ten feet below her.

  Tipping her head back, Jessie sighed with contentment. In the last week they’d traveled over the gently undulating prairie past St. Mary’s and Scott Springs, covering a hundred and sixty-six miles in sixteen days. She yawned. Being able to sit and do nothing felt so good, but it also left her feeling guilty. She felt bad that neither Anne nor Eirica had the luxury of much free time with their husbands and children. They were kept busy every minute of their day. Even when they rode in the wagons, their time was put to good use as they knitted winter sweaters and mittens or mended torn shirts. She’d even caught Anne mixing bread dough so it could rise while they traveled.

  Jessie brushed a fly from her nose. But whether married or single, with or without children, there was one task that fell to the uprooted women. They were recorders of life and death. Each day, the number of graves passed was noted in their diaries, and sometimes, if the markers were legible, the names of the unfortunate souls might also be written in the daily entry. And the same went for births. Just yesterday Anne had assisted in the birth of a baby boy.

  But always birth seemed shadowed by death. Jessie recalled two rock-covered graves of children that she and Eirica had passed earlier that day. Eirica had grown quiet, hugging Ian to her breast as they walked past the tiny mounds of earth that gave testimony to the harshness of trail life. Jessie recorded their names in her diary, and suspected Eirica would do so also.

  Pushing the depressing thoughts from her mind, she leaned back on her hands, her chin pointed toward the sun as she let her mind wander. It was easy in this idealistic, romantic place to imagine being alone in the secluded pool below to bathe and frolic in the dark, mysterious waters, surrounded only by lush greenery. Flipping over onto her stomach, hands propped under her chin, she frowned and watched a small bee buzzing at some wildflowers near her elbow; then she picked up a small rock and tossed it over the falls. It landed in the pool with a splash, shattering the perfect stillness of the water.

  As she watched the rippling rings in the water grow larger, moving ever outward from that one small disturbance, she felt as if Wolf were a rock that someone had dropped into her life. Each day the ripple of awareness grew, leaving her confused, disturbed by her thoughts and feelings for the wagon master.

  Ever since the night he’d relieved her from guard duty early, he’d become much friendlier. Anxiety rumbled through her, but she wasn’t sure why. Plucking a blade of grass, Jessie chewed it and contemplated the changes in Wolf’s attitude. During their first week on the trail, he’d found fault with whatever she did, but during this last week, he’d quit criticizing her and no longer piled on the extra chores. But he hadn’t stopped watching her. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that he watched her more. Her brow knitted with confusion. Why? What had changed between them? An unpleasant thought occurred to her. Did he know?

  The thought that he knew her secret didn’t sit well with her. Her fingers nervously picked at the grass as her mind raced with the possibilities. After a few minutes, she discarded the notion. She just couldn’t imagine him remaining silent. But then, why was he being so nice to her? Every time she turned around, there he was with a helping hand—which astounded her.

  From cold and aloof to warm and friendly. It just didn’t make sense. She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her fisted hands, confused and unsettled by Wolf’s strange behavior—like last night, when he’d ordered her to demonstrate her knowledge of knots. She groaned as she recalled his insistence on teaching her a new knot. Wolf’s method of teaching involved lots of close contact: working shoulder to shoulder, his long fingers guiding hers as he taught her the squaw knot. When she’d mastered it, he patted her shoulder in a manly gesture of encouragement.

  She grew warm just thinking about his hard, lean body so close to hers. This new attitude toward her was driving her to distraction. What was she going to do? A helpful and friendly Wolf was torturous, far worse than when he barked out orders. While it was nice to have him off her back, she wished he’d go back to being mean and obnoxious. That she could handle!

  “What is wrong with me?” she asked herself, torn between her conflicting emotions. It was times like this that she missed her ma. She had so many questions about what was happening inside her. Her brothers would think her crazy if she started talking about weak limbs, shortness of breath and a racing heart. And sometimes her stomach fluttered at the very thought of Wolf. Just thinking about it brought on a familiar ache. “Stop thinking of him,” she commanded herself, willing her racing pulse to calm. This was ridiculous nonsense, pure and simple.

  When she heard the sound of someone whistling, she lifted her head, grateful for any diversion that would take her mind off Wolf. Edging closer to the ledge, she glanced down, then gasped and dropped her head back to the ground, praying that the tall grass concealed her presence from the very man who haunted her thoughts. She slowly inched back from the edge. The last thing she wanted right now was for Wolf to see her here, away from camp, where they were alone. She didn’t trust herself or her feelings for him, especially as she had no trouble envisioning them together, hidden from the world behind the falls below. Her lashes fluttered closed, and in her mind’s eye she saw him: his golden-brown hair dark from the water, his eyes bluer than the sky above and his lips as soft as his chest was hard.

  Her breathing quickened and her eyes shot open, filled with dismay and longing. Her heart raced, and she wondered just what it was about the wagon master that drew her like a bee to a sweetly scented bloom. Each day he intruded into her thoughts, her dreams, and now even her fantasies.

  Life would be considerably simpler if it were still Elliot who held her heart, but it wasn’t. The dream of one day becoming his wife and the mother of his children—miniatures of their easygoing father—no longer held any appeal to her. Since leaving home, she acknowledged that her feelings for Elliot had been no more than a young girl’s starry-eyed first love. What she’d taken to be love had faded into a strong friendship. And while she still considered Elliot handsome, his looks paled beside the formidable and frustrating White Wolf.

  The silence broke through her thoughts. The cheerful whistling had stopped. Was he gone? Jessie scooted forward, peering through a small bush. “Oh, my God.” She gasped, her eyes growing wide as she gulped air into her burning lungs. Wolf stood below her—gloriously naked!

  Jessie squeezed her eyes shut, but of their own accord they opened to feast on his muscular and sun-baked backside. From the broad shoulders down to lean, tapered hips, he presented a magnificent sight. But it was that one narrow swath of pale skin, the tight slope of his buttocks, that sent blood crashing through her veins like rapids churning down a river. Her face grew hot, and a hard, tight ball of desire seemed to seize her stomach.

  With agonizing slowness, she watched him enter the pool of water until it lapped at the bottom of his buttocks. She must have made some sound, however slight, because he suddenly turned and faced her. Jessie closed her eyes against that most private part of hi
m, but not fast enough. She’d caught a glimpse.

  And unfortunately that one small peek was enough to take her breath away. How foolish she’d been to think she was immune to the male body! She backed away. She had to get out of there, but it was too late. She’d been spotted. When Wolf called her name, she nearly died of embarrassment.

  “You sleeping up there, Jess? Water’s fine if you want to come down for a dip.” Jumping to her feet, Jessie fled.

  Wolf’s laughter drifted over the pond. Oh, it was so perfect, he thought with a shake of his head. If Jessie had been thinking clearly, she’d have realized that men and boys washed or relieved themselves together on a daily basis. She’d given herself away and hadn’t even realized it! Her flight also told him that she wasn’t immune to him. She was attracted, all right, and he planned to make full use of that.

  What a stroke of luck that she’d been up there. He waded over to the falls and let the steady stream of water wash the trail dust from his body. As the cool water hit his skin, pangs of guilt assailed him, but his fury at being so thoroughly duped quickly overrode any misgivings.

  His pride still smarted. By observing the emigrants carefully, he’d ascertained that everyone but the Nortons knew the truth. He figured that the only reason Hugh and Rosalyn didn’t know was because they kept to themselves. Well, he’d show Jessica Jones. He’d teach her the folly of pretending to be something she wasn’t. His plan to make her uncomfortable in her role of a boy was going better than he’d hoped. Each day he made it a point to have some sort of physical contact with her, and it was succeeding beyond his original hopes.

  He knew she was battling her attraction to him, that the pretense of being a boy was becoming harder with each passing day—exactly as he’d planned. “This’ll teach her a lesson,” he declared, wading out of the pond. His smile faded as he grabbed his clothes and stared down at himself. Trouble was, he too was paying a price for indulging in his little game of revenge. Just her gaze on him had been enough to stir him, forcing him to sit in the water quickly to hide his swelling erection. His mind might deny his desire, but his body couldn’t.